Letters of Horace Walpole — Volume II eBook

Mr. Edmonson has called on me; and, as he sets out
to-morrow, I can safely trust my letter to him.
I have, I own, been much shocked at reading Gray’s[1]
death in the papers. ’Tis an hour that makes
one forget any subject of complaint, especially towards
one with whom I lived in friendship from thirteen
years old. As self lies so rooted in self, no
doubt the nearness of our ages made the stroke recoil
to my own breast; and having so little expected his
death, it is plain how little I expect my own.
Yet to you, who of all men living are the most forgiving,
I need not excuse the concern I feel. I fear most
men ought to apologise for their want of feeling,
instead of palliating that sensation when they have
it. I thought that what I had seen of the world
had hardened my heart; but I find that it had formed
my language, not extinguished my tenderness.
In short, I am really shocked—­nay, I am
hurt at my own weakness, as I perceive that when I
love anybody, it is for my life; and I have had too
much reason not to wish that such a disposition may
very seldom be put to the trial. You, at least,
are the only person to whom I would venture to make
such a confession.

[Footnote 1: Gray died of gout in the stomach
on July 30th. He was only fifty-five.]

Adieu! my dear Sir! Let me know when I arrive,
which will be about the last day of the month, when
I am likely to see you. I have much to say to
you. Of being here I am most heartily tired, and
nothing but this dear old woman should keep me here
an hour—­I am weary of them to death—­but
that is not new! Yours ever.

SCANTINESS OF THE RELICS OF GRAY—­GARRICK’S
PROLOGUES, ETC.—­WILKES’S SQUINT.

TO THE REV. WILLIAM COLE

ARLINGTON STREET, Jan. 28, 1772.

It is long indeed, dear Sir, since we corresponded.
I should not have been silent if I had anything worth
telling you in your way; but I grow such an antiquity
myself, that I think I am less fond of what remains
of our predecessors.

I thank you for Bannerman’s proposal; I mean,
for taking the trouble to send it, for I am not at
all disposed to subscribe. I thank you more for
the note on King Edward; I mean, too, for your friendship
in thinking of me. Of Dean Milles I cannot trouble
myself to think any more. His piece is at Strawberry:
perhaps I may look at it for the sake of your note.
The bad weather keeps me in town, and a good deal at
home; which I find very comfortable, literally practising
what so many persons pretend they intend, being quiet
and enjoying my fire-side in my elderly days.